Through the Firestorm

By Cara Sergio

Through the Firestorm is many things. A fantasy novella, set in a nightclub atmosphere. A piece of the queer, leftist, pagan agenda. Raunchy, irreverent. It's got elements of sex & sexuality, lots of action, a few twists & turns you will not see coming, and the obligatory showdown between good and evil. But it's also a coming of age story, and it's about learning to be your authentic self. It is for kinksters 18+

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cara Sergio
• Release date: Jan 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224591152

Book preview

ONE

You got your waitress license? Mr. Schaefer asked.

I sure do, Rhiannon said, pulling the waitressing license out and sliding it across the desk to him.

Great, he said, giving it a cursory glance through his half glasses, I take it you have experience in hospitality...food and beverage? Now he looked at Rhiannon over the top of his half glasses.

Yes, Sir, I do.

Then what you want to do, he shoved her license back at her, is you go to this address, he scrawled something on a slip of paper, Ziegler runs the place, he’s hiring. Good money to be made there, if you’re willing to work hard.

‘What time should I get there?" Rhiannon asked.

Fucking YESTERDAY, came the reply, and, he gestured at her pussy-bow blouse, you might do well to undo a button or three, it’s a nightclub, not a Sunday school. She stared, her mouth hanging open, so he said, Don’t be so uptight. Presentation is everything, and I tell you Ziegler runs a nightclub, which means to work there, you must look like someone who belongs in a nightclub.

Presentation, Rhiannon muttered, undoing the pussy-bow entirely, unbuttoning it to reveal the underlying chemise, and finally throwing the blouse into her handbag, well how’s this for a presentation?

It’s actually not bad, he said.

TWO

The place in question was something called The Dirty Circus, and it stood on a street in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Rhiannon checked the address three times, because it didn’t look like a nightclub. It looked like an abandoned factory. After checking the address three times & seeing that it was correct, that she was, in fact, in the right place, there was nothing left but to decide whether or not to go inside. So she fished Dunhill International out of her cigarette case, lit up, and thought about it. The employment agency hadn’t been what she thought it would, and now this place, it didn’t look like she thought a nightclub should.

And as she stood smoking, a person came out of the nightclub. Attired in a teal smoking jacket over a pantsuit, accessorized with Chelsea boots & dangling teal earrings, with shoulder length dark hair, Oi, Snow White, can y’spare a fag?

Snow White, she muttered, almost laughing, the name’s actually Rhiannon, but yeah, sure, she extended the open cigarette case to the person, help yourself, Mister-

‘MISS, it’s MISS!" the person roared, reaching for a cigarette.

OK, calm down, I didn’t mean any-

No, no, that was uncalled for, and I’m sorry, it’s just that’s the fourth fucking time I’ve been misgendered today. The lighter?

Yeah, of course, Rhiannon passed the lighter, Miss-

Miss Jamie Alexander. Jamie lit up, then said, I work here, was hired for a barman, but recently I graduated to barmaid. Savvy?

I think so.... you’re a tra..trans....transplanted Englishwoman.

At that Jamie laughed, a deep, throaty, melodic laugh. Almost put your foot right in the landmine there, didn’t you? But technically, I’m half Irish, half Scottish, & half South African.

That’s three halves.

Well, the Celts, Jamie gestured vaguely, we Celts will go anywhere there’s fighting to be done and/or buildings to be built. It’s the same set of skills and muscles needed to tear a man down and build a building, and we Celts have those muscles and skills in spades. And you, she looked Rhiannon up and down, your accent is all Pollyanna, and yet you smoke Dunhill Internationals without looking the slightest bit ‘international’. What’s that about?

I guess we can’t all be as continental as you, Rhiannon laughed. But do you really work in there?

I really do, Jamie said, why?

Cuz I’m here for the waitress job-

Oh no you’re not.

What? But the man at the employment agency said-

"Who? Fucking Schaefer? Fuck him. You’re not here for any waitress job because Ziegler doesn’t hire waitresses, the position of waitress doesn’t exist in there."

I know you meant that to be clarifying, but it’s more confusing. I was told this was a nightclub, which implies patrons who eat and drink, which implies somebody is needed to fetch their food and drink, which implies-

Well of COURSE it does, yes, Jamie nodded, "but inside there, the person who fetches food and drink isn’t called a waitress, she’s called